Iesobel
by Love Gordon
Summary: A strange story in which a woman becomes the queen of Death Eaters, only to be slain in her prime...


Iesobel by Love Gordon 

Iesobel was born in a house by the sea. Her childhood was the sea, the sweet salty scent in her hair. Her father had strong, gentle hands; he would pick her up and sit her on his shoulders,  so she could look up at the stars. Her mother was a harsh woman; but there were times when she, too, took Iesobel into her arms to read her a story. Iesobel's mother told her stories of wizards and witches who had wands and cauldrons just like her mother's own. (Her father had a wand, as well, but Iesobel rarely saw him use it.)

Days of darkness came to the family of Iesobel. Her mother was away, often; her father shook his head and looked worried. One night, her mother did not come home. Iesobel was six.

Her father raised her in the quiet house by the sea – he was never sad, not truly, only quiet and resigned to her mother's death. He told Iesobel one day that four witches and a wizard she had met once, when she was barely old enough to remember – her mother's sisters and brother – were all dead. Gone. Iesobel was the last pure one of the line.

She bowed her head, nodded, understood. She asked her father what that would mean to her. And he told her once more the shadowy tales she had heard coming from her mother's lips, of Muggles and their few wizard-born, of the defilement and destruction they had waged on wizarding folk. 

_Iesobel, my daughter, her father said to her, __the restoration of pureblood power is not enough. I believed so – once. But they took your mother, destroyed her- and I saw what she must have seen. The revolution is at hand. You will have the power to destroy all those impure of blood and chaste of heart, if you choose._

_Yes, Iesobel said to her father. __Yes, I will do what you ask._

Iesobel was seven.

One day, the letter from a place called Hogwarts came. Her father looked sternly at her, asked her if she really wanted to go. _Of course, she said, laughing, __it's part of my mission. She smiled, but her father turned away, looked out the window behind him. Her laughter caught in her throat._

Iesobel never mentioned it again. Not to anyone. 

She was sorted into Slytherin, of course, which she had expected. Those there were friendly to her, but left her alone when she asked them – politely, in a lady-like manner. Iesobel had never liked being around so many people. Always, at school, she stayed by herself, read books, thought about the mission her father had given her, tried to remember her mother. Sometimes, her professors tried to talk to her about making friends with people, but she only shook her head. She was never lonely.

In the spring of her eighteenth birthday, twelve years after her mother's death, nearly ten after Voldemort's first defeat, Iesobel left Hogwarts behind her. She graduated at the top of her house, which she was mildly happy about.

Iesobel returned to her home by the sea, where she continued her mother's potions experiments for many years. Her father had passed away during her years at Hogwarts. Occasionally, there came an invitation to a Death Eater gala, and she went, attired in her mother's silk robes, which were still beautiful, if not the current fashion. For seven years, her life was this way; even when the Dark Lord rose, he had little need of her beyond her potions-making skills, and little need even of those – Severus Snape, her former Potions master at Hogwarts, was more talented, if less trustworthy.

In the spring of her twenty-fifth birthday, nineteen years after her mother's death, three weeks after Voldemort's final defeat, Lucius Malfoy appeared on her doorstep. 

_I need a bride for my heir, he said in a cold, clipped voice. __You were his first choice._

Iesobel smiled. _Why? she asked. At his stern expression, she elaborated. __Not why does he need a bride, Lucius. Why me? Why now?_

_He is the Dark Lord's heir as well. And he chose you because he thinks you're beautiful. This last with a hint of amusement._

Iesobel looked up at Lucius; she was somewhat confused. _Beautiful? The man nodded. She shrugged. She'd never really understood why some insisted on calling her such; she was rather skinny, tan, and auburn-haired, not necessarily the most felicitous of combinations. But that didn't matter – had not Lucius Malfoy just offered her a throne? A throne from which to rule, to wield the power of royalty, to destroy the impure? __I accept, Iesobel said, without reservations. __When would you like to hold the ceremonies?_

On the very next day, at the edge of sunset, she was married to Draco Malfoy in her mother's wedding dress, a light, airy white dress of the finest lawn.

_Do you take this man, Draco Aurelius Malfoy, as your lawfully wedded husband? _

_I do, said Iesobel._

_Do you take this woman, Iesobel Jessamine Esse, as your lawfully wedded wife?_

_I do, said Draco._

_I pronounce you man and wife, said the priest._

Iesobel kissed her husband, a chaste kiss on the lips.

Draco Malfoy came to worship her, and she to love him with the vague sort of affection that was as close to loving as she came. And over the next ten years, as her three children were born – Julius, Morianna, and her youngest, Una – they established a reign of terror that even the Muggles noticed.

Iesobel was Queen, and Draco her King.

She thought of Harry Potter's group of Aurors as a mild annoyance, and dealt with them as such. _A bunch of gentleman, she scoffed. __They'll never amount to anything._

Draco agreed with her, as he always did, because ten years of marriage had never bridged the gulf between them that seven years had created, a gulf that left him knelt in awe on one side and Iesobel fixing her hair on the other. She knew this, and did nothing to remedy it. She liked her husband best that way.

In the spring of her thirty-fifth birthday, twenty-nine years after her mother's death, ten years after Voldemort's final defeat, Harry Potter forgot his gentleman ways and stormed Malfoy Manner. Draco and the children were in London; Lucius and Narcissa were on holiday in the south of France.

He found Iesobel on the balcony that overlooked the back lawn. She was daintily sipping a cup of tea, staring absently into space.

_Madame Malfoy, he said coolly, __I think we can dispense with greetings._

She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. _Oh, do you think so, Mr. Potter? I don't think so at all. Your good friend Albus had at least the kindness to introduce himself in manner befitting to a Queen. Before I killed him, of course._

Harry Potter held out his wand, unafraid. _Another word from you-_

_I'll die a martyr, Iesobel stated calmly, and then she continued, and she felt as if it were the first time that she had ever said anything– "You'll be my Jehu, and I your Jezebel."_

The Killing Curse hit her, but not before she was already halfway over the balcony – a death of her own choice, a death that her people would respect, would honour.

Her last thought was laughter.

_END_

**Notes: This fic came about because of – oh, a lot of things, but mainly because I wanted to do a story parallel to the Biblical tale of Jezebel, and I found out the Hebrew translation of Jezebel's name equals roughly "YZBL." Hence, the origin of Iesobel's name.**


End file.
